Free The Lady Chosen by Stephanie Laurens

to which he instinctively reacted.
    His morning’s ruse of using their sensual connection to distract her from the burglars, while tactically sound, had been personally unwise. He’d known it at the time, yet had cold-bloodedly reached for the one weapon that had promised the greatest chance of success; his overriding aim had been to ensure her mind was fixed on matters other than the putative burglar.
    Outside the wind howled. Again he straightened, silently stretched, then settled against the wall once more.
    Fortunately for all concerned, he was too old, too wise, and far too experienced to allow lust to dictate his actions. During the day, he’d formulated a plan for dealing with Leonora. Given he’d stumbled onto this mystery and she was, no matter what her uncle and brother thought, threatened by it, then given his training, given his nature, it was understandable, indeed right and proper, for him to resolve the situation and remove the threat. Thereafter, however, he would leave her alone.
    The distant scrape of metal on stone reached him. His senses focused, expanded, straining to catch any further evidence that the burglar was near.
    A trifle earlier than he’d expected, but whoever it was was most likely an amateur.
    He’d returned to the house at eight o’clock, slipping in via the rear alleyway and the shadows of the back garden. Entering through the kitchen, he’d noted that the builders had left only a few tools gathered in a corner. The side door had been as he’d left it, the key in the lock but not turned, the teeth not engaged. The scene set, he’d retreated to the porter’s alcove, leaving the door at the top of the kitchen stairs propped open with a brick.
    The porter’s alcove commanded an uninterrupted view of the ground floor hall, the stairs leading upward, andthe door to the kitchen stairs. No one could enter from the ground or the upper floors and get access to the basement level without him seeing them.
    Not that he expected anyone to come that way, but he’d wanted to leave the way clear for the burglar belowstairs. He was willing to wager the “burglar” would head for some area of the basement; he wanted to let the man settle to his task before he intervened. He wanted evidence to confirm his suspicions. And then he intended to interrogate the “burglar.”
    It was difficult to imagine what a real burglar would expect to steal from a vacant house.
    His ears caught the soft slap of a leather sole on stone. Abruptly, he turned and faced the front door.
    Against all the odds, someone was coming in that way.
    A wavering outline appeared on the etched-glass panels of the door. He slipped noiselessly out of the porter’s booth and merged with the shadows.
     
    Leonora slid the heavy key into the lock and glanced down at her companion.
    She’d retired to her bedchamber supposedly to sleep. The servants had locked up and retired. She’d waited until the clock had struck eleven, reasoning that by then the street would be deserted, then she’d slipped downstairs, avoiding the library where Humphrey and Jeremy were still poring over their tomes. Collecting her cloak, she’d let herself out of the front door.
    There was, however, one being she couldn’t so easily avoid.
    Henrietta blinked up at her, long jaws agape, ready to follow her wherever she went. If she’d tried to leave her in the front hall and go out alone at this hour, Henrietta would have howled.
    Leonora narrowed her eyes at her. “Blackmailer.” Her whisper was lost in the strafing wind. “Just remember,”she continued, more by way of bolstering her own courage than instructing Henrietta, “we’re only here to watch what he does. You have to be absolutely quiet.”
    Henrietta looked at the door, then nudged it with her nose.
    Leonora turned the key, pleased when it slid smoothly around. Removing it, she pocketed it, then drew her cloak close. Curling one hand about Henrietta’s collar, she grasped the doorknob and